


Unbecoming

by alice_pike



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-03
Updated: 2012-04-03
Packaged: 2017-11-02 23:35:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alice_pike/pseuds/alice_pike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Alphonse Elric," Ed threatens, "if you tell me you 'don't have time,' I will kick your ass."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbecoming

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fma_slashfest prompt _Ed/Al, slow fingering_.

"Projection stuff again?" Ed asks, not-quite-barging into his and Al's apartment, and not bothering altogether with menial things such as 'hello' and 'how was your day?' The sight of Al pulling his hair out in frustration from behind stacks of books was becoming a pretty regular thing, and Ed didn't need to ask how it was going to know that Al had been sitting there for _at least_ the past four hours and was probably getting nowhere. 

When Al had returned from the east, he'd spent most of his time in Central's various libraries, bemoaning the lack of Amestrian literature on alkahestry before finally deciding to write his own. Being Al, he had, of course, chosen to focus his studies on the one aspect of alkahestry _least_ likely to translate to Amestrian alchemy; Ed would wager that Al was currently conducting perhaps the most complicated alchemical research ever attempted. 

Central University had all but laughed at him when he proposed his thesis, declaring outright that it was impossible and refusing to fund his research. But, as Ed had known he would, Al had made some serious breakthroughs. Now that the higher up academics from the country's leading universities were _finally_ taking an interest in his work, to say that Al had been stressed lately was the understatement of the century. 

"Trying to, yeah," Al answers with a sigh, throwing his pencil down on the table perhaps harder than necessary.

Ed makes his way over to him, leaning down to land a quick kiss on Al's lips before studying over his shoulder the various materials Al has sprawled across their kitchen table. (Dinner on the couch again, it looked like. Why had Ed even bothered to buy Al a desk?) Al leans back into Ed's space and scrubs a hand over his eyes, letting Ed look.

"What about this?" Ed suggests eventually, picking up the pencil and lightly sketching four separate lines into the circle Al had drawn, drastically changing its properties, allowing for more stability over a much longer range.

When he finishes the last line, Al looks up at him in awe. "How do you _do_ that?" he demands, sounding scandalized. "I've been staring at this array for _hours_ and I don't think I ever would have come up with that."

"Yeah, well, I'm a genius," Ed jokes lightly. "But _you are too_ ," he adds, suddenly serious, his hands coming to rest on Al's shoulders. His thumbs trace lines down Al's neck, digging into knots just on either side of his spine. "You've been staring at it for too long, that's your problem."

"Mmm," Al agrees, although Ed figures that it's more in response to the massage than his words, proven when Al _whines_ and looks up at him pitifully when Ed moves away.

"You, my brother," Ed decides, poking him, "need a break."

Al only mutters something indistinct, lowering his head almost instinctively, inviting Ed to continue. Instead of doing so, however, Ed leans down and kisses Al right below the ear, nuzzling into the hair at the nape of his neck, his breath warm on Al's skin.

"Shit," Al breathes, cocking his head to the side, giving Ed more room to work. Ed trails his lips slowly over Al's neck, nipping at his pulse point and tracing the underside of his jaw. In one abrupt movement, Al's hand comes up to fist in Ed's hair, pulling Ed forward as Al turns his head, catching Ed's mouth with his own. Ed follows the momentum and spins his body around, landing lightly in Al's lap. 

Al hums his approval into the kiss, reveling at how Ed opens for him when he licks his way into Ed's mouth. Ed responds eagerly, deepening the kiss and reaching for the hem of Al's shirt.

Only then does Al break off. "Ed," he says hesitantly, a question just under the address.

"What?" Ed asks, breathless, his smirk and playful tone indicating that he knows exactly what Al's protests are going to be, and that he's already thought of ways around them.

Preparing himself for a debate that, frankly, he doesn't really want to win, Al takes a deep breath. "My first review is coming up," he tries to argue, although even to his own ears, it sounds feeble, at best. Indeed, he knows that any argument he might make won't hold much water, what with how his hands find their way to settle on Ed's hips. "I don't really—"

"Alphonse Elric," Ed threatens, "if you tell me you 'don't have time,' I will kick your ass."

Al chuckles, both at Ed's theatrics and the completely empty threat, and doesn't bother to suppress the smile that tilts up the corner of his lips.

"Hmm. I have better ideas," Al says, bumping Ed up off his legs. Once standing, Ed takes Al's hand and pulls him up after him, leading the way towards their bedroom.

"Just for the record," Ed looks over his shoulder to say, "this was _my_ idea."

 

Ed settles himself on his stomach between Al's legs, kissing his way up the back of Al's thigh. He trails his lips slowly inward, until his face is pressed against the crease of Al's ass. He flicks out his tongue experimentally, working his way inside, and Al jerks underneath him. Smirking at the hiss of pleasure that it elicited, Ed does it once more before spreading Al open with his hands.

And then he doesn't do anything, waiting instead for Al to react.

He doesn't have to wait long.

After several protracted moments of silence, Al squirms and huffs out a frustrated breath. "Ed," he says, trying to sound stern and failing miserably, the need in his voice audible. "Don't fucking _tease_ me. _Do_ something already, Jesus Christ."

(Although he would never admit it out loud, the fact that it takes about two minutes of foreplay for Al's usually pristine vocabulary to go straight to the gutter never fails to unbelievably turn Ed on.)

"Patience, little brother," he says serenely, but his own impatience is made obvious when he leans in almost immediately to lick at Al's exposed hole. He doesn't bother with technique for the first couple broad swipes of his tongue, choosing instead to overload Al with a lot of sensation all at once. 

Al's muscles visibly clench under the onslaught, but Ed keeps holding him open, tongue now still but pressed flat against Al's hole. Only when he feels Al relax does he continue, licking him now in smaller strokes, the tip of his tongue just barely pushing into him with every pass.

"Fuck, _Ed_ ," Al pants, his breath coming in short bursts and gulps as he tries to calm his muscles, as he tries to stay relaxed. His cock is hard and aching where it's pressed against the sheets, but he tries not to rub himself too much against them, not wanting to come so soon.

There isn't much he can do to stop that, though, when Ed's tongue presses into him for real, pulling backing and pushing into him again rapidly, fucking him. Ed can't get as deep as Al really wants, but the stretch of himself around Ed's tongue is more than enough, and he's coming less than thirty seconds later. 

 

"Shit," is all Al says, after he finally pulls himself together and is able to roll onto his back to look up at Ed, propped on his elbow beside him, grin firmly in place. 

"Is that all you have to say to me?" Ed asks him with exaggerated offense, and Al can only huff out a weak laugh.

"Yeah," he confirms, "pretty much. C'mere." And he reaches out to drag Ed down on top of him. Ed crawls onto him haphazardly, throwing his automail leg over Al's hips to straddle him. He leans his head down and kisses Al slowly, sweetly, fingers massaging the hair at Al's temples, rubbing behind his ears. Soon enough, Al pushes up against him and tries to reposition them on the bed, his hand snaking down Ed's body towards his now semi-hard cock. Before he can get there, though, Ed reaches down and catches him, lacing their fingers together before bringing them back up. He kisses the top of Al's hand and shakes his head. 

"Not yet," Ed tells him. "This is about _you_ ," he says.

"What?" Al asks incredulously. "Brother, I just—"

"You," Ed repeats sternly to Al's 'are-you-sure-this-is-okay' face, poking him in the chest for emphasis.

Then he rolls off of Al in one fluid motion, pushing up onto his knees. For several moments, Ed just looks at his brother; but then he leans over and places his hands flat against Al's chest, smiling to himself when he feels the barely-there beat of Al's heart, the near-feverish warmth of his skin.

He runs his hands slowly over Al's body, fingering the jagged dips of bone and muscle and tracing the mark of every scar. When Al has recovered a bit from his previous orgasm and starts to react again to his touch, Ed trails his fingers lower and lower until they are twisting in the rough hairs at the base of Al's cock. He does no more, though, and soon Al's hips are bucking up into empty air, desperate for contact.

A low whine escapes Al's lips when Ed's hand brushes right past his cock, fingers slipping under Al's balls to press firmly against his perineum. Ed rubs his fingers across it, a dry rasp of skin on skin, and, still on his knees, shuffles down the bed to get a more comfortable angle.

Al takes a few deep breaths to try and relax his muscles when he feels Ed's hand slip lower, Ed's finger sliding between his asscheeks to brush against his hole. The skin there is still sensitive but not tender, although Ed makes no move to slip his finger inside, just brushes it across Al's entrance in steady, firm strokes. What moisture remained from Ed's mouth is now gone, and Al can start to feel the earliest twinges of pain, more annoyance at this point than anything. Ed must notice either the barely audible hiss of Al's breath through his teeth or the almost unconscious way he shies from Ed's touch, because the next thing Al knows, Ed's finger is gone only to be replaced again almost immediately, warm and slick with saliva. 

Ed presses against him harder but otherwise doesn't alter his rhythm, and soon Al becomes so accustomed that he barely feels it; Ed's touches serve more to remind Al of what he'd done earlier, to make him _want_ in the same way as before. Al's whole body shivers at the sense-memory, and he pushes down against Ed's hand shamelessly, biting hard on his lip to cut off the plea that threatens to escape his mouth.

Unexpectedly and without warning, Ed stops. Al's eyes snap fully open and he looks at Ed in confusion, still caught off guard.

Ed chuckles brightly at the disbelieving stare Al gives him, and slaps him on the thigh.

"Flip," Ed says, moving out of the way to let Al maneuver. Without questioning him, Al turns over gracelessly, flopping down on his stomach. He watches as Ed reaches across the bed and grabs the little jar of lubricant from their nightstand, his stomach instinctively fluttering in anticipation. 

"Up," is all Ed says when he shimmies back down the right side of Al's body, slipping a hand under Al's hip and helping pull him up onto all fours. Al doesn't speak, but Ed can feel the slight quiver in his skin as he runs his hands over Al's flank, settling them on his ass, thumbs barely starting to spread him open.

Al rocks back into his hands impatiently, and Ed chuckles again.

_"Ed,"_ Al huffs, again in that way of his that's meant to be threatening but really, really isn't, and Ed relents. Sort of.

He holds Al open with one hand, the other dipping into the jar of lubricant before moving back to Al's hole. Al shivers once as the cold substance makes contact with his skin, but it warms quickly as Ed works with it, and soon all Al can focus on is the steady pressure of Ed's fingers, the way they slide over his skin with ease. 

Ed works up quickly to the same rhythm as before, stroking steady and firm across Al's hole. Al reacts accordingly, almost immediately pushing back against Ed's finger in time with his strokes. Ed doesn't try to stop him, but he doesn't give in to Al's silent demands, either—he just begins to trace the ring of muscle with the pad of his finger, first slowly and gently, then faster and harder, then slowly and gently again, never penetrating. Sometimes he's barely touching Al, feather-light and teasing; other times he's pressing hard against him, fingers working frantically. 

Al's head is bowed, his breath coming in quick gasps that he is hard-pressed to level out. It doesn't take long before he is begging Ed for more, but Ed keeps up until he has lost all sense of rhythm, and even then he just slows, never quite stopping. 

Al lets him work and holds himself from asking Ed for anything, seemingly resigned to his fate; Ed decides that it's time to move things along. While still circling Al's hole, Ed pushes into him just slightly, barely penetrating; even so, Al reacts immediately, hissing through his teeth as his muscles flex and contract. He whimpers when Ed does finally push a finger into him, even if he only buries it halfway at first. Ed's hand stays infuriatingly in place, and Al tries to rock back against it. He can barely even feel Ed's finger—he's more imagining the sensation than anything, but it just makes Al want him even more. 

After a moment, Ed pulls back and almost out, drawing a low moan from Al's lips, but then he pushes all the way back in, pausing again once buried. Slowly, so slowly, Ed starts to make rotations with his finger. He keeps them small at first, and Al can feel it inside of him, a gentle pressure that he can't quite pinpoint. Gradually, Ed makes them bigger and bigger until his finger is pushing against the muscle of Al's hole, opening him. Ed's doing it so slowly that it doesn't hurt at all, any pain there might have been totally overshadowed by Al's need. He squeezes his eyes shut as Ed starts to fuck into him, knuckles tightening around the sheets he has bunched in his fists. 

He can feel it acutely every time Ed switches up what he's doing, alternating between circling his finger inside of him and fucking him, and even though it feels good, it's still not _enough_.

"Ed," he finally begs again, voice already shot to hell. "C'mon, Ed, please."

Ed doesn't respond right away; it's another few minutes before he finally adds a second finger, and when he does, he does so slowly. Al all but growls at his brother's doggedness, wishing that Ed would just fuck him properly already, but his annoyance soon ebbs as Ed continues with whatever elaborate plan Al assumes he must have. Al is long past the point of needing to be worked open, so there's no real reason for Ed to essentially just be pressing against him with both fingers, only penetrating half an inch or so for several thrusts, pulling back every time Al wants _more_ , but it's slowly driving Al crazy (which, Al assumes, must be the point).

He doesn't do it long enough for Al to get accustomed, though. Just as Al is working out Ed's rhythm and angling his hips to maximize the friction Ed is giving him, Ed changes what he's doing; without hesitation, he sinks his fingers fully into Al, burying them in one quick thrust. A few expletives slip out of Al's mouth at the sudden intrusion, and Ed smiles as he starts to fuck into him, no technique, no finesse, just the steady in-out-in-out of his fingers. 

Ed's movements are sure and determined, and the pace he sets is edging on brutal compared to the light and fleeting touches of before. Despite the fact that it's what Al has wanted the whole time, it takes him a while to adjust, the sudden contrast sending tremors through his body. His arms are shaking where they hold him up, and he barely has the strength to get the leverage he needs to push back against Ed's thrusts. He drops onto his elbows, forehead pressed to his forearm, his breath almost suffocatingly warm against the blankets under his face. 

Pleasure is radiating out through his entire body, and he can feel his orgasm building low in his gut. His cock is aching, but—on his elbows or no—his limbs still feel weak enough that he's pretty sure he'd collapse painfully onto his shoulder if he tried moving to wrap a hand around it, so he doesn't. After a few more hard thrusts from Ed, though, he's also pretty sure that it won't matter. 

"Ed," he pants, but it's barely audible, more a muffled sob than anything. His voice is heavy when he continues, and he croaks out, "I think I'm—"

Ed stops. It takes Al a moment to notice, too focused on getting himself off to realize that he's just rocking back against Ed's stationary hand, but once he does he keens in desperation, needing just that little bit more. He was so close to climax that getting ripped back from the edge so suddenly is almost painful, the sensation too overwhelming. He keeps rocking back against Ed's hand to ride it out, trying to regain some of his composure. Ed lets him, and as Al works himself back down, Ed's other hand comes up to smooth over Al's flank, running tenderly across his skin, helping calm him. 

"That's it," Ed whispers encouragingly, leaning down to kiss the base of Al's spine, moving back to admire the flush of Al's skin, the bruised muscle of Al's hole clamping down around his fingers. "Shh," he says soothingly, "relax." He can feel Al trying to comply, just as he can feel the moment when Al's muscles finally loosen, when his breathing starts to even out. 

He doesn't wait too long to start up again, though, because he doesn't want the inevitable soreness to hit Al too early, doesn't want to wring Al out before he can finish properly. He dips the fingers of his free hand back into the jar of lubricant, spreading it over Al's entrance and his buried fingers together. Then, to get Al worked up again, he reaches down round Al's hip to grasp the base of his hitherto ignored cock, hard enough that Al won't come from the contact alone, gentle enough to elicit a "Fuck, _Broth—_ " from Al before he cuts himself off, muffling a groan into his forearm. 

Al's whole body spasms as Ed starts to pump his cock in steady, sure movements, and he rocks against Ed when he starts to scissor the fingers of his other hand, still buried in his brother's ass. Ed has long since known how and where to hit Al's prostate, but he makes no special effort to do so as he fucks into him, gradually increasing the speed and pressure of his thrusts. 

Both of Ed's hands move in tandem, taking Al apart; his nerves are completely on end, his whole body shaking. He feels his orgasm start to build again immediately, just as intense and a thousand times more urgent, but Ed has been so controlled with him for such a long time that he needs more now to actually come.

Ed must know it, too, because he suddenly shoves a third and fourth finger inside of Al at once, stretching him more than he has been yet. It should be painful—it _is_ painful—but Al's body adjusts almost immediately, the sensation of finally being filled strong enough to overcome anything else. Almost as if Ed was avoiding it before, Al feels him purposefully crook his fingers and press hard against the skin over Al's prostate, sliding against it now with every thrust. Ed thrums his fingers over it again and again, finally bringing Al to climax.

A broken sob makes its way past Al's lips as Ed fucks him, and his breath hitches as his orgasm rips through him, hitting him like a freight train. He doesn't even know how long it goes on for, mind wiped completely blank with pleasure, his body totally out of his control. Ed holds him through all of it, hand steady and sure on his cock as Al rides it out. Even when Al finishes, though, Ed doesn't move away: his fingers slow inside of him but he doesn't pull out, and he jerks Al through a second, dry orgasm that comes just as suddenly and intensely as the first.

He barely feels Ed pull out of him, doesn't notice Ed's hand slipping off his cock. He can't do much more than lie there motionlessly and wait for the remnants of his orgasm to subside. He drifts back down slowly, and through his haze he can hear Ed behind him, the ragged breaths and the fleshy, slapping sound that tells him Ed's finishing himself off, as well.

When Al opens his eyes and starts to push himself back up onto his hands and knees, Ed is already lying next to him, sprawled out on his back. Al crawls over and flops down on top of him bonelessly, trying and mostly succeeding to avoid the cold puddle of his come on the sheets. Ed takes his weight without complaint and wraps his arms around him securely, running his hands over Al's still slightly trembling skin; Al tucks his head into Ed's neck, sleepy and sated like he doesn't think he's ever been before.

They don't say anything, which is fine with Al, because he doesn't think his voice would work at this point, anyway. Ed just runs his fingers through Al's sweat-damp hair, drops a kiss to his forehead, his temple, the curve of his cheek. Al kisses his neck in turn, breathing in his scent. They lay there, wrapped up together, until they lose track of time completely.

"You hungry?" Ed finally asks, his voice gentle, loving like Al rarely hears, and only ever when they're alone. Warmth spreads through him at the sound of it. 

"Oh, God, yes," Al answers, his voice coming out like gravel (correctly assumed unfit for speaking) and Ed laughs. 

"I'll make you food," Ed tells him, and they shuffle around on the bed a bit so Ed can get up. Al has regained almost all feeling in his extremities, but he's more than content to lay there for a little while longer.

A thought comes to him, though, when he thinks about food. "Are we eating on the couch again?" he asks Ed.

Ed is appalled to hear the distain in his brother's voice, evident even in its current state. "We wouldn't be," Ed informs him, scowling, "if your _things_ hadn't usurped our kitchen table, you heathen. I don't know why I even bothered to buy you a desk."

With that, he turns dramatically on his heel and stalks off towards the kitchen, not waiting for a response. 

Al laughs at his theatrics, open and bright. "You love me," he tells Ed's retreating back.

"You're lucky I do," Ed says, waving his hand dismissively, without turning around.


End file.
